


Your Hands Hold Me Together

by itsacoup



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 10:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2425127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsacoup/pseuds/itsacoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The only constant factors are Sid and Geno and the way their hands fit together.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Five times Sid and Geno hold hands, expanded from my entry to the Real Hockey Bros Hold Hands challenge on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Hands Hold Me Together

**Author's Note:**

> Today's lesson: when I say to myself, "oh, I'll just write a couple hundred words on this hand-holding challenge to get the creativity flowing for my WIPs," it really means "let's write 800 words and then spend the next week turning it into 3k of pornless schmoop."

_A Meeting_

It’s only been three weeks since Evgeni escaped to America, but it still feels like--years, maybe, every day an eon of baffling interactions and the pounding fear of being caught and returned to Russia. He’s wildly dissatisfied to be in California, playing on ice belonging to the LA Kings instead of where he should be, surrounded by black and gold in another city of steel.

Finally, _finally_ , Barry says, “Time to go, Pittsburgh ready,” in his awful Russian, and Evgeni wants to scream, to skate, to do anything to disperse the painful energy and fear those words evoke. The terror of consequences, of what’s going to be done with him for escaping, is still beating through his veins, shaking his limbs, spurring his mind into furious action. The Superleague doesn’t know he’s in California, but they know he wants to be in Pittsburgh, and all he can think of is being cornered in the airport, trapped and escorted back to Russia.

The flight across the States is painful, five long hours of jittering while Barry gives him the hairy eyeball. Evgeni can’t help it, is filled to the brim with the restlessness born of poor sleep and high anxiety. They land in darkness, Evgeni’s eyes feeling gritty and dry, and everything takes on a dreamlike quality. They drift through the airport and out to a car, and once they’re in Barry says, “We take you to Mario now.”

“Right now?” Evgeni asks, heart racing again, mouth drying out.

“Now,” Barry says, with a firm nod.

Evgeni is sure he’s looking out the window as they drive, but nothing he sees sticks in his head, at least until they go into a long tunnel and burst out in the heart of the city. He feels his jaw drop and he cranes his neck to look at the skyscrapers, the sports stadiums, the fountain. The city glitters in its cradle of mountains, the rivers below throwing back the light. It’s beautiful, and Evgeni feels a deep ache in his chest born of the fierce desire to earn a place here.

After a sight like that, the rest of the drive feels mundane, though the house--mansion--they arrive at is anything but. Once they pass through the gate, Evgeni can see a man sitting on the porch, half in darkness, and Evgeni wonders if it’s Mario himself.

The car stops and Evgeni stumbles out to trail after Barry up to the front door. The man waiting stands, face thrown into the light now, and it’s Sidney Crosby.

“Hi, I’m Sidney,” he says, and stretches out a hand to shake. Evgeni takes it; it’s warm, the grip reassuring instead of challenging.

“Evgeni,” Evgeni says, and his heart finally flutters with hope instead of dread as Sidney Crosby smiles and pulls him into the house by the hold on his hand.

The interior is bright, warm, and bustling. A few kids spring back and forth, shouting gleefully, and Sidney says “Woah!”, laughing, and tugs Evgeni out of their way. Evgeni stares at where their hands are clasped together, and he wants to ask if this is normal, if men hold hands in America without getting beat up, but--

It’s the first time anyone has touched Evgeni in three weeks, and while it’s not the same as his mama patting his hair or his papa pulling him into a hug, it feels a little bit like that.

  
  


_A Reminder_

 

“You’re all fucking fuckfaces,” Flower announces eloquently as he enters the locker room, and immediately has to duck the four practice jerseys thrown at his head.

“Don’t be bitter, man, it’ll make you fat and ugly like Benny over here,” Jordie taunts, and Benny chucks a sock at him and says, “what, you wanna throw down, stormtrooper?”

“For fuck’s sake, I am not a clone!” Jordie squawks, and Geno huffs to himself as the bickering rages on, steadily untaping himself from his gear. Normally, he’d get involved in the back and forth bullshitting, but he hasn’t been feeling it lately.

Unexpectedly, Dan pops back in the door, and the room settles down a bit, through Geno can see Tanger lob a ball of tape at TK out of the corner of his eye.

“Mario says Sid can have visitors now,” Dan announces, and a hush falls, TK frozen mid-retaliation. “Just one at a time, and no more than one every other day. Text Mario, not Sid, if you want to visit, okay? He’s not allowed near any electronics at all yet.”

Dan’s barely out the door before Geno shouts, “Dibs!” to the room. He’s beaten Flower and Max by a hair, who both groan obscene things in French, but Geno’s already pulling out his phone to text Mario. _Me first, have dibs. If Flower say he have, lying. Tomorrow ok?_ Mario answers with an affirmative, and Geno wills his heart to slow down.

The rest of the day drags on. He has errands to run--Dixi’s out of food, hell, he’s out of food--but he has even less enthusiasm than normal about it all. He’s listless going through the specialty pet store, even though he normally goes into paroxysms of glee over the pet outfits and the owner’s two ferrets and the glorious cat toys that he buys and buys and Dixi ignores and ignores.

He lays awake in bed that night, and it’s only then that he admits to himself he’s worried about Sid. But of course he’s worried, Sid’s his teammate, and concussions are always bad news. Geno just--needs to see Sid, needs to know he’s going to be okay, even though nobody knows that for sure yet.

When he gets to Mario’s the next morning, the house looks unnaturally still. When Mario opens the door, the inside is devoid of its usual happy chaos and instead is hushed, as if in mourning. Mario takes him into the living room, sits him down and says a lot of things about _concussion protocol_ and _don’t say anything stupid_ and _call for help if you need any_. Geno can barely focus, the need to see Sid buzzing under his skin.

Finally, Mario releases him, and Geno takes the stairs up to the top by two. The door to Sid’s room is closed, and Geno inches it open far enough to slip in and shut it behind him. The room is pitch black, a tiny nightlight far in the corner throwing just enough light to give shape to the shadows. It smells a little like sadness and a little like bile, and Geno feels his own stomach roil.

He moves towards the bed and gets close enough to make out the lump that’s Sid, curled on his side with his head and neck firmly supported by an elaborate system of pillows. He’s covered up to his armpits in the sheet, but his arms are above them, hands tucked together next to his face.

Geno takes the chair next to the bed, Sidney’s eyes widening to watch him approach but not saying anything. Geno reaches out, slides his left hand under Sidney’s so he can gently cup both of Sidney’s hands into his.

“I’m here now, always for you,” Geno says hoarsely, and Sid lets out a tiny sob, hands convulsing as Geno cradles them as carefully as he knows how. Geno doesn’t understand what he’s feeling, the sickness deep in his gut and the prickling in his eyes, but as they sit together for an indeterminate amount of time, he thinks he’ll figure it out.

  
  


_A Beginning_

 

Really, it’s all Gonch’s fault that Geno’s standing on Mario’s porch, awkwardly hunched to support himself on too-short crutches. It’s a real bitch to move--Geno’s knee is throbbing so hard the pain spikes up past his hip and down into his foot--but of course Gonch decided it was time to have the exterminator in and apparently the house needs fumigated so they’re all kicked out.

Gonch told Mario, because every member of their weirdly codependent team is constitutionally incapable of not telling Mario about everything in their lives, and Mario said, “Well, I already have one walking wounded, maybe if you bring yours they can be friends,” and Geno wants to snarl at everything from the pain but hanging out with Sid sounds okay.

The door finally swings open, Nathalie looking a little frazzled as she makes her apologies, but Geno is focused on the tricky bit of getting over the threshold of the door.

“The couch is ready for you, Evgeni,” Nathalie says, shooing him down the hall and into the living room, though it sounds like something destructive is happening in the kitchen. She helps him get settled with pillows in all the right places to relieve pressure on his knee before sweeping off, presumably to deal with whoever is ruining all of her cookware.

The clattering stops and Sid wanders out of the kitchen, looking disgruntled with violently orange earplugs in his ears. He spots Geno, eyebrows jumping up in surprise, and says, “oh, hi, Geno!”, before his face twists violently and he yanks the earplugs out.

“That’s better,” Sid sighs and drops down onto the other leg of the couch. “How’re you doing?”

Geno shrugs. “Hurts,” he offers, and Sid’s mouth pulls to one side.

“Sorry,” Sid says quietly, and Geno shrugs again.

“Not your fault,” Geno says, and hooks a thumb over his shoulder at the kitchen. “What you do to Nathalie’s kitchen?”

Sid rolls his eyes, slouching further into the couch. “It was her idea,” he says, which is no answer at all, but he also reaches out with his foot to kick the TV remote into his hand. “Wanna watch something?” he asks, and Geno demands, “Animal planet!”

Of course, it’s the middle of the day, so it’s all reruns, and Geno is close to dozing within half an hour, still upright thanks to being tucked into the corner of the couch. Sid’s not any better; he’s tilting to one side, blinking slower and slower. Sid’s eyes slide close, and his body sags for a second before his head jerks up abruptly, and Geno knows that can’t be good.

“Sid,” Geno says quietly, and he really doesn’t know what he wants to accomplish with that, especially when Sid turns to him with a soft smile and sleepy eyes and says, “Yeah?”

“Come here,” Geno says impulsively, lifting his arm, and Sid gives him a skeptical look but scoots over anyway. He slides neatly under Geno’s arm, twisting to put his back towards Geno and rest his head against Geno’s chest. Geno drapes his arm across Sidney’s waist and does his best not to think about what they’re doing, because if he does, he’s going to panic and run screaming from the house and probably break his other knee.

After a tense moment, Sid lets out a long breath and relaxes against Geno. One of his arms comes up tentatively to rest across Geno’s, palm warm against the back of Geno’s hand. There’s another beat while Geno considers how brave he’s going to be and comes to the conclusion of _fuck it, I do what I want_. He spreads his fingers and wiggles them a little, and Sid’s fingers slide easily between Geno’s, like it’s where they belong.

They spend a lot of time together on that couch, watching daytime TV and Pens games and sometimes nothing at all. The only constant factors are Sid and Geno and the way their hands fit together.

  
  


_A Promise_

 

The dance floor is--well, it’s a disaster, frankly. Geno didn’t expect any different, but it’s honestly something else to see Jonathan Toews and Ovie get in a dance-off, with Flower solemnly standing by as judge. Sid is staring, entranced and giggling at random intervals, though his head is propped up on a hand and he’s sort of listing off his chair towards Geno.

Geno nudges him in the side. “Hey,” he says quietly. Sid turns to look at him, eyes sparkling and grin growing wider.

“Hey,” Sid says back, and wiggles his eyebrows dorkily. They both crack up--overcome with a mixture of punch-drunk and real-drunk--until Geno reaches out and knocks Sid’s elbow off the table.

“I was using that!” SId says indignantly, having just avoided dropping his chin straight into the table, and wouldn’t have Geno regretted that move if it’d played out that way.

“Nope, too bad, I need,” Geno says, capturing the hand he just freed and wrapping it firmly in his own. Sid’s protests disappear, and he grins again, looking down at their hands. Geno squeezes his hand, just enough to feel the ring on Sid’s finger shift a little, and Sidney inhales sharply.

“You like it, huh?” Geno asks, and Sid laughs.

“As if you don’t like it even more,” Sid says, squeezing back. “Do you think we’re allowed to sneak out yet?”

Flower has just declared Ovie the winner, and is now being shouted at by Pat Kane--“I know Jonny’s the better dancer, I taught him all my moves!” to which Flower replies, “Are you sure that isn’t the issue?” and laughs uproariously as Pat snarls and tries to throw himself at Flower--so nobody’s looking their way.

“Let’s go,” Geno says, and pulls Sid out into the fresh night air through the door behind the wedding party’s table. They wander the paths outdoors, hands still firmly joined, and eventually they stumble upon a private grotto, tall hedges around a little gazebo draped in white string lights.

Sid stops and turns to Geno, grabbing Geno’s right hand and stepping right up into Geno’s space until they’re touching thigh to chest. “I love you,” Sid murmurs, one thumb rubbing slowly over the back of Geno’s knuckles.

“Love you too,” Geno says, leaning down to kiss Sid on the mouth, and then lifting one of their pairs of joined hands, kissing across the back of Sid’s hand and down the fingers until he has to either stop or commit to having his wedding night interrupted.

“Let’s go,” Sid sighs, eyes wide and dark, and Geno reluctantly drops Sid’s right hand so they can walk. He refuses to give up his hold on the other, and the feel of the ring there is one tiny reason among millions as to why.

  
  


_A Future_

 

“Geno!” Sid hollers at the top of his lungs from across the house, and Geno bellows back an exasperated “What?!” from Victoria’s room.

“Where’s the sunscreen?” is the returning shout, and Geno rolls his eyes so hugely that Tori breaks into giggles from where she’s packing her backpack for the plane.

“Bathroom!” Geno finishes throwing shirts into Tori’s suitcase and closes it hurriedly, before Tori can see what he’s picked and start in about how he didn’t pack her favorite shirt, why is papa so silly. Every shirt is her favorite shirt, so it’s a losing battle, especially since Geno is so weak to her sad eyes.

“Not there!” is Sid’s response, and Geno heaves a huge sigh and goes over to where Tori’s carefully tucking Hoot Hoot in the top of her bag.

“Got everything?” he asks, and she gives a cheerful “mm-hm!” before stretching her arms up. He obliges, picking her up and grabbing her backpack and duffel in the other hand. “Let’s go, must save dad from sunburn already.”

Geno kicks the door open to step out into the hall, and Sid nearly runs straight into him, cheeks splotched red and eyes wide with the particular brand of neurotic energy that always strikes Sid when packing is involved.

“It’s not there,” Sid says breathlessly, narrowing his eyes accusingly. “Did you think it’d be funny to move it?”

“Haven’t touched sunscreen, don’t be dork,” Geno says, and Tori giggles and repeats “dork” to herself, sing-song. “I bet you pack already and forget.”

“I did not!” Sid says, but ten minutes later they’re out the door, sunscreen back in the bottom of Sid’s bag where it had been all along. Sammy’s already asleep in his carrier, thank god, so the ride to the airport is mostly quiet, aside from Tori’s endless stream of questions about “what is Canadia?” and “what do you mean it isn’t called Canadia, you told me it was, papa,” and “will Uncle Flower and Uncle Tang be there too?”

Geno handles the questions and the driving, hoping Sid will relax a little, but he looks more and more wound up the closer to the airport they get. Geno pulls into long-term parking, kills the engine, and flies out of the car and around fast enough to trap Sid as he’s getting out.

“Geno, what--?” Sid starts, eyes wide, but Geno pushes him back against the car, caging him in with his body.

“Worry, worry, worry,” Geno scolds before peppering kisses across Sid’s face. “You drive everyone crazy. It’s just plane ride and family. You big hockey star, I’m big secret agent hockey star, we can handle it if you stop freaking out.”

“You are not a secret agent, shut up,” Sid protests with a laugh, but his eyes are sparkling again and Geno grins, pleased with himself.

“Am too,” he insists smugly, letting Sid go to open the door behind him and extract Sammy. “Sneak away to America when twenty, how is that not secret agent?”

“You’re so full of crap,” Sid says, which really means he can’t think of an actual relevant chirp, and Geno’s preparing to gloat when he hears Sid open Tori’s door and ask her, “you’re gonna play for Canada when you grow up, right?”

“Yep!” Tori says, because she’s nothing if not agreeable, so Geno says, “fine, Sammy play for Mother Russia and beat pants off Canada, how you like that?”

“Sammy gets to make that decision,” Sid says, looking stern, and that’s the cue to drop the subject before they end up not talking to each other for a week again and gather up diaper bags and suitcases and backpacks and children. Thankfully, they make it through bag checking and security with a minimum of fuss from both officials and fans, and they head off to the lounge to wait for their flight to be called.

Tori flops face-down onto a couch with an enormous sigh, because twenty minutes in an airport is deeply inhumane treatment when you’re five years old. Sid sits next to her with far less drama, Sammy cradled up against his shoulder. Geno stands and looks at his little family, and he wants to burst with happiness.

“No free shows,” Sid says mildly, and Geno huffs a laugh, squeezing into the spot on Sid’s right. “Ugh,” Sid groans, exaggerated, as Geno wedges his ass in a space not large enough to contain it, “I was sitting there.”

“Now you sitting next to me,” Geno says, and slides his hand up to the soft inside of Sid’s elbow and down his arm until Geno can lace their fingers together. Sid looks at Geno out of the corner of his eyes, a little smile playing around his lips, and they’ve held hands and looked at each other hundreds of times before but every time it’s a little kick in Geno’s chest.

“Love you,” Geno whispers, and Sid smiles bigger before leaning over to drop a kiss on Geno’s cheek.

“Love you too,” Sid says, giving Geno’s hand a quick squeeze, and Geno feels it in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi at [tumblr](http://itsacoup.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
